Summer Cherries
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: Joffrey is having a very lovely day, perhaps at the cost of others, but who cares? Margaery loves him, and they are going to have a fantastic life together. And chaos isn't a pit. Chaos is a ladder. (Read the warning for the sake of the faceless gods.)


_Warning:_ Contains violent non-con, disturbing imagery.

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_Summer Cherries_

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Moments before the redheaded bitch sputters her last incomprehensible word, King Joffrey feels an erection stir between his legs and then harden there, solid like the thick wood of the fifteenth arrow that flies through the air and connects with her forehead. There's a squelching noise: bone breaking, brain blasting, carrying crimson-haired No Name fast to the land of the phantoms. The soulless body shivers and sighs. A thin stream of blood dribbles out of the final wound and he subconsciously tugs his belt just centimeters above his pulsing cock, hot and imprisoned in layers of velvet.

Killing a woman is not everything he thought it would be. It is more. It is as if he's been parched all his life and only just now tasted a drop of fresh stream water for the first time. He is even thirstier. His need for fulfillment throbs between his thin legs and with no real idea in mind, Joffrey stalks out of his room, leaving No Name's corpse swinging slightly on the bed frame like a ribbon in the branches of a tree.

He thrusts open the large wooden door and hisses at several guards to step off. When he enters the dark chambers, he realizes he has come here without a plan and when his eyes adjust to the blackness, it sets in: he is alone in a room with his betrothed. Joffrey is emboldened; after all, he's spent the past three hours alone in his chambers with a woman. He is now able to do this. He is now a real man.

When Joffrey slips over to the bed, Lady Margaery's bright eyes are as wide as her smile, catlike in the black of night. She holds out her hand lovingly and he grasps it. "My king, what is the hour?"

He stops her words with a kiss and is pleased by her supple lips, her soft emission of a startled sigh as he thrusts his waggling tongue in her mouth and juts it in and out, tasting her submission. Her mouth is unlike Sansa's, he notes and briefly considers the fact that all maids must have different flavors.

Margaery mutters a protest, a giggling, "_what would they say if they saw, Your Grace"_, her voice docile and Joffrey laughs, excited by rebellion. But Margaery sounds more serious than usual, the playful look gone from her face. "The wedding is not for another fortnight! And I've long envisioned our bedding together, my strong king. My love, why make haste?" Her finger on his lip is trying to reason with his hungry mouth.

"No, now! Now!"he says, exuberant, daring, "I have to have you now." He's sure there are a thousand reasons why not and there is no spare second to hear her list them all. He snatches Margaery's small hand in his and presses it between his legs. He grunts, greedy, and she gives a moan, sounding like No Name before the second arrow. His cock is trembling, made urgent by the sound. When he pushes his tongue in again, he feels her trying to direct the kiss and so he bites her mouth just hard enough to hear her squeak.

Joffrey tugs her hair, wrenches the coverlet from her body and lifts up her nightgown. "If I put a son in you, it will be just fine because in two weeks, you will be mine,"he sings into her ear. Margaery whimpers as he searches her skin with eager fingers. When he drives them into the wet hole between her legs and twists, she gives a startled cry. "Is it not good, my lady?"Joffrey says dangerously, right fingers fast and moving hard, left fingers clasping his swelling shaft. Margaery says nothing. Instead, her eyes shift and her face darkens and she puts on that feline grin and her soft hands drift to Joffrey's head, caressing his hair. He lets out a sigh and smiles down at her, pulling out his fingers.

"What a life we shall have, my Lady Margaery," Joffrey says, his voice a gasp, and he grasps his belt, unhooking it and tossing it to the rug. He rears up, unclothing himself and Margaery helps him, hands as tender as his mother's when she helps him dress for feasts. Joffrey drops back to the mattress and eagerly spreads his legs. Freed from his small clothes, his rigid cock wobbles in Margaery's hand and she looks up at him with wide, sad eyes before sucking it into her cheeks easily, second nature, like she is devouring a summer cherry. Inside her lips, it is humid and wet, better than his own fist, that is certain. Joffrey trembles out a moan and his legs quiver. It feels much too good. He is worried he will spill his seed before he means to and suddenly, he feels angry.

"I didn't come here for that!" he snarls and grips her by the throat. She coughs on his cock and releases him. "Spread your legs before I call out Meryn and Boros and have them do it for you!"

"Of course, my king," Margaery says, and Joffrey appreciates the defeat in her voice. "Anything you desire you will have."

When he hovers over her, his heart pounds and he searches again for her entrance. He cares not to see her cunt; he only wants to push his cock inside it and finally, Margaery angles his hand correctly and he whimpers. The hole is warm and small and clings to his cock. He finds her mouth and finds himself kissing her, running his tongue over her lips. "My lady, my lady," he says, "oh, Margaery—"

"King Joffrey, the one king, my king," she murmurs, her eyes wandering. _Is she bored?_ She bucks her hips against his shaft and his eyes flash angrily. He moves like a pit viper and takes her throat in his hands, squeezing it with malice.

"I'm in control, I'm in control," he spits, and his hardness swells as she gags. He moves against her, hands tightening on her neck as he thrusts in and out. He closes his eyes as Margaery gasps for life and he thinks of pretty pictures: _Sansa stripped and beaten, Eddard Stark's head, and of course, killing No Name with the entire tin of arrows, Gods she was beautiful, she was beautiful, her blood was beautiful, and I can do it again, and again, and again. _ Joffrey stiffens and shivers as he feels his orgasm coming and he takes his hands off Margaery's neck. She breathes in air with heavy gulps and swallows, and when Joffrey drags a tender hand across her cheek his fingertips collect tears. When he comes he gives a guttural growl and falls to her chest, his arms draped across her body in a casual embrace.

It was a success. He knew it would be. First kill and first sex, all within the same hour. What a grand day! Next time, he thinks he should cover Margaery's mouth with a pillow, perhaps bind her to the bed post or hold a knife to her stomach and fuck her from behind. This was a good beginning but Joffrey supposes it could be much better.

He's spent but he remembers her maiden's blood. Jubilant, Joffrey scrambles up and throws the blankets aside to inspect. At once, he frowns.

Margaery wipes her eyes and sits up, following his gaze to the sheets between her legs, the clean, crimson sheets only stained with a bit of runaway ejaculate. "I should have mentioned," Magaery begins, but Joffrey does not want to hear it.

Instead, he backhands her face as hard as he can. "You little whore," Joffrey screams, and his body is quivering. He's been soiled. He's been ruined by a filthy bitch, and Mother was right, she was right—

"I have no maidenhead!" Margaery cries, hand flying to her red cheek. "I have none! I stuck a candlestick in myself when I was twelve and I deflowered myself—I was a maiden until now, my sweet king, my Joffrey, please believe I was, please—"

Joffrey sighs, trying to calm himself. He thinks he believes her. She is sweet, and she is his, after all. He speaks calmly and softly, and pets her hair. Margaery flinches. "I wish you had said something before. Of course, I am only disappointed I couldn't see your blood. I so wanted to see it and smell it."

Margaery smiles, bows her head. "I am so utterly sorry, my king. I should have, I really should have. I did not think to mention it as I am a bit embarrassed."

"That's fine," Joffrey says, and as he hops up and dresses, he is thinking all the time. "I have an idea!" he says brightly, "a brilliant idea! Sansa remains a maiden! You could watch me take her first! You could watch!" He giggles. "You could hold my arrows for me, and we could play with her before I fuck her, only for fun! Then we'll _both _see her virgin blood!"

"Oh, I—yes, we could," Margaery says. Her voice is quavering.

As Joffrey buckles his belt, he stares at her with question in his eyes. "You said you could watch me kill something. You said _you _could kill something. Yet now you look scared. Your maidenhead is mine, blood or not. Your body is mine. And you _will _help me fuck Sansa. You can even join. And you _will _kill something," he orders her, voice coming out in a whine.

Margaery stands up, and she kisses Joffrey on the mouth. When she pulls back, she is smiling serenely. "Yes, I will, my love," she says, "I will kill for you, and I will help you fuck Sansa, of course. Shall we celebrate our first night as king and queen this way? Shall we have a wedding night to remember?" There is playfulness in her voice, and seduction, too.

Joffrey is ecstatic. "Yes, my lady!" he shouts with a smile. "Yes, I look forward to our wedding!"

"As do I," Margaery says, and with one last kiss, Joffrey glides off, eager to dress his first real kill.

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_The End_


End file.
